ON A BIRD SANCTUARY.

Otautau Standard and Wallace County Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 100, 2 April 1907, Page 6

ON A BIRD SANCTUARY.

TWO WEEKS AT THE LITTLE BARRIEE.

NATIVE BIRDS AND THEIR

<HABITS

[By J. Drummond, F.L.S., of Christ-

church.]

Early m the morning of the last day of January I stepped on to a five-ton yacht, which had come to take me across the fifteen miles of deep water that separate the Auckland province from the Little Barrier Island, the bird sanctuary of the north. It was a magnificent northern summer's day, and Nature was m her brightest and happiest mood. A slight haze enveloped the island, but it could be seen from the mainland, standing darkly and bodly out of the ocean, which raged and swelled around. It looked every inch a sanctuary. The hills rose high into the sky, and even at that distance they disclosed their rough, ragged, and forbidding character, with which I became better acquainted later on. The yacht had been moored all night m a pretty little cove, opposite the islands. When the sail was hoisted it flapped lazily and loudly once or twice before it filled out. The yacht then moved quietly down to the mouth of the cove, dashed out into the open, and sprang at the waves, which came rapidly over the surface of the sea, like a mighty army advancing m line of battle, with white plumes tossing gaily m the air. The yacht was broad m beam and rather slow m speed, and, as a head wind blew, hours passed by while we beat up and down, with nothing to attract attention except a few flocks of whalebirds zigzagging over the water. Towards noon the wind veered round from the east to the north; and the yacht then made a great deal of way, throwing the spray over bhe bows and bounding along m fine style. As the island came into clearer view it showed a larger area than might have been imagined. The mountains were of many colors, and there was a prevailing sadness and sombreness. There were patches of grey and brown rocks, of dark-green and light-green foliage, and of bright yellow hillsides, where immense landslips had laid the clayey soil bare. Over them all there was the shadow of the purply black forest, which has extended itself' to all parts of the island, from strange pinnacles on the tops of the mountains to the edges of the cliffs on the shore. Some of the great forest trees, m fact, lean over the cliffs and look down dizzily into the depths, threatening every minute to topple over and fall splashing into the water. With the strange deceptiveness of distance at sea, we seemed to be within twenty minutes' 6ail of the island when nearly two hours lay between us ; but at 2 p.m., seven hours from the time we started, the yacht ran under shelter, and was moored a few chains from the shore. A dingey landed me, not without some difficulty and a slight wetting, on a boulder bank, upon wldch the surf was tumbling m masses of foam, and Mr R. H. Shakespear, on whose shoulders the Government have placed the heavy responsibility of protecting New Zealand's native birds, welcomed me to their sanatuarv. I had come a long way to see the remnant of an ancient and aristocratic fauna, which has found protection on that little island, and I experienced a feeling of deep reverence when I realised that I__ had entered into a naturalist's holy place, and was" treading upon hallowed ground. I was m the last home of the representatives of a race of beings who dwelt m New Zealand for thousands of years, and who have been ruthlessly struck down, deceived, bullied, harried, driven out of the land of their inheritance, and, m part, dismissed to a few islands where they have been given sanctuary. In keeping with the feeling of reverence that possessed me, no birds could be either seen or heard. As for bird life, the sanctuary was silent and deserted. There were no loud songs of praise; no bright beings flitted about m the enjoyment of life. For a moment it seemed to me as if protection had come too late. It flashed through my mind

that the sanctuary, after all, was nothing but the Valley of the Shadow of Death. This impression was dispelled later on, but for a time it was quite overpowering. The birds, of course, were away m their haunts m the bush, and I was on the flat land, where there were few trees and little scrub. Nobody could expect to see the bush-loving birds of New Zealand m a place of that description. Although the birds did not sing the island was not silent. From giant spurs, which rise abruptly from the flat and from inclined ways up to the tops of the high mountains, from the gullies on the sides of those' spurs, from the mountains themselves, from clumps of tea tree on the level ground, and, apparently, I from every green leaf and every blade of grass, there came a mighty chorus of countless thousands of cicadas. The sun was shooting its hottest rays down on to the island. The stones danced m the ! heat, and the chorus of these children of | the summer, who love the sun's glorious warmth, was at the height of its power. II had heard the chorus distinctly a mile away before the yacht reached her moorings. Over the water it sounded like the very distant whirr of many circular saws; on the land it was surprisingly loud and strong. It was a continuous crackljng and buzzing combined. It rose and fell with the regularity of a healthy person's breathing m a sound sleep, occasionally surging backwards and forwards, but never ceasing. Every day while I was on the island I heard that chorus. It began generally some time after dawn, when the sun was fairly strong, and it was maintained until the sun went down. Even m the dark a single cicada could often be heard crackling industriously. The chorus seldom reaches any great volume unless the sun is shining brightly. On dull days it \ subsides, as if the clouds, settling on the ' forest, shut out the sound ; but as soon as ■ the sun's rays penetrate the mist it swells , out again. It can be heard coming down . the mountain sides, accompanying the sun, ! until it resounds from every glade and | valley and every hilltop. In the dense ! bush it has almost a terrifying effect. I Anyone who has been m a New Zealand bush while it is on fire knows the awful sensation caused by the loud, steady crackling of the flames, which, though far away, seem to be close, and to be springing up all around, leaving absolutely no means of escape. That sound is reproduced with startling effect m the cicadas' chorus, and while the chorus is being poured forth it is hard at first to get away from the dread that the whole bush is ablaze and that the flame? •will bust into view at any moment. When the ears are accustomed to the sound it is rather soothing. It is then like a deep, droning lullaby, an entirely appropriate accompaniment to the hot midsummer days of the north, when exertion of any kind is impossible, and when people get too tired even to think. The first bird I saw was a vulgar, impudent little sparrow, who came hopping along the grass with head cocked on one side and an irritating, cock-sure air of ownership and self-content. There are many of his kind on the island, as well as goldfinches, thrushes, blackbirds, starlings, and other English interlopers. They do not interefere m any way with the native birds, and as there are no crops for them ■to eat no serious objection is taken to 'their presence m the sanctuary. As far as I could see the English birds keep to themselves, and the New Zealand birds to themselves, and one has no connection with the other. I saw many species of native birds together, and many species of English birds, but I never saw them meeting m unfriendliness or hostility. On my first morning on the island I rose early, left my tent, and walked over a grassy saddle to the spot where I had landed the previous afternoon. Following the beaten track, I advanced up the southern side of a densely-wooded gully, with high, precipitous sides. At first the track weni through straggling manuka scrub, but it soon entered the bush, and the trees closed m above it. All the walks, tracks, ridges, and hills on the island have been named, and I was told afterwards that the track I followed was Clematis Avenue. A slight breeze rustled the leaves, and the sun, which had not long before appeared above the horizon, came shyly into the foliage, tinting everything with light golden colors. The cicadas had not begun their great daily chorus. In the distance, far up the side of

the hill, an early one droned loudly, and was accompanied by several others m the depths of the gully below. There was hardly another sound until one of the sweetest songs on earth suddenly rang out from the topmost branches of a large beech tree. It was the song of a bell-bird. The notes rose and fell m charming cadence, and came clearly throughl the morning air with entrancing sweetness. The bird flew down from its high perch, and sat for a few seconds on a lower bough, looking over my head across the gully, and repeatedly ringing out its wild notes. I had heard the bell-bird many times before, and I heard it afterwards every day I was on the island ; but it was never so exquisite as on that summer morning m Clematis Avenue. The little bird seemed to pour out its whole soul into its song. Its head was stretched forward, and its body vibrated with the effort. Shortly after it had repeated the song thTee or4our times m fairly quick succession there came a response from another bell- bird, which had alighted on a tree close by. This bird also began to sing. They sang to each other for about a minute, and then the bird that came first flew down into the bottom of the gully, immediately followed by the second, and I lost sight of both.

The bell-bird possesses the characteristically dull plumage of New Zealand's avi fauna ; it has few quaint habits to endear it to a human being, and its lovely song is practically its only attraction. It is from its song, of course, that it gets its popular name. The resemblance of the notes to the chiming of a bell, however, is more fanciful than real. As a matter of fact, the tui has more claim to«i.he title of bellbird than the bell-bird itself. These two birds, m the Little Barrier Island, at any rate, sing songs that are much alike, but the tui's is louder, deeper, and, if possible, more distinct. The name of the bell-bird seems to have originated with Captain Cook, who was carried completely away with enthusiasm when he heard the New Zealand bird's famous " Song of Dawn " m Queen Charlotte Sound 130 years ago. His vessel was about a quarter of a mile from the shore. "And m the morning," he wrote m his " Voyages," "we were awakened by the singing of the birds. The number was incredible, and they seemed to strain their throat?, m emulation of each other. This wild melody was infinitely superior to any that we had ever heard of the same kind ; it seemed to be like small bells most exquisitely tuned, and perhaps the distance and the water between might be no small advantage to the sound." The bell-bird is not the best singer of the bush ; the crow, the thrush, and the robin may easily be placed before it; but it can claim a prominent place amongst the great singer^ of the wotW. The number of notes used by the bird varies. Sometimes there are only three notes, sometimes four, sometimes five, and more. Occasionally two very sharp, clear notes are added to the end of the song. I heard several bell-birds who, apparently, .had dropped into the habit of cutting their song short m the middle, leaving the latter portion of it incomplete. At times they conclude a fine effort with a slight cough, as if they had attempted to go beyond their range, and wished to hide heir embarrassment and annoyance. The songs sung by the bell-bird can be easily produced on the piano and flute. If it is admitted that the notes fairly represent the chimes of a bell, the common song would be " Ding, ding, dong, ding," the third note being higher than any of the others, and the fourth note next. Another very popular song with the birds is "Ding, dong, ding; ding, dong, ding — ding-ding," the last two being sounded quickly and close together. A third song, which is not heard so frequently, is " Din g» dong, ding, ding, ding, ding — ding-ding." It might be thought, from the purty arid sweetness of the mellifluous melody, that the bird derives infinite delight from pournig it forth at all times throughout the long day. It probably does do son; but a close view of the bird when it is singing leaves an impression that it is going through a hard task. Its throat swells, its feathens are slightly ruffled, ite back is arched, and all the time it moves its head from side to side, m the manner of a lady singing on the stage, and turning first to one portion of the audience and then to the other. It is evidently entirely wrapped up m the production of the notes. Its only object, apparently, is to trill them out loudly and clearly. The bell-bird's songs are as bewitching to a New Zealander as the lark's song is to an Englishman, only more so. To New Zealand ears these sounds are quite divine. When they are heard after a lapse of years, it is hard to imagine anything more entrancing. The notes go straight to the heart. They send the blood tingling through the veins, childhood's days come crowding m upon the memory, and there arise visions of stately trees, drooping ferns, mossy dells, and ail the magnificent beauty of the New Zealand bush. Besides these songs, bellbirds have a faint twitter, which is uttered only when two or more are together, and also loud calls, or danger notes. The latter, which, as far as I can learn, are only used when the birds are alarmed or excited by some unusual sound m the bush, afford' a very striking contrast to their honey-sweet songs. They are a hansh, grating, and very penetrating sound, and can be heaiid a long distance away. These calls have been compared to the sound made by a policeman's rattle when it is rapidly revolved. To me they seem to- be more like the sound of many pebbles shaken m a small box, with a squeak, like the squeak of a child's doll, m between. The bird starts the cry with a rattle, stops, utters the squeak, and then takes up the rattling sound again. The cry is not always used as a danger note, as I heard it frequently when there was no danger near the biids, and when, apparently, they had nothing to fear. On one occasion, however, late m the afternoon* when the sun was beginning to set, I heard the cry near my tent. It was answered with the same cry from a bird m a quince tree m the garden, about a chain and a-half away, and shortly afterwards a long-tailed cuckoo flew over the garden. It was evidently this marauder that had

alarmed the bell-birds. The cry is often heard at night, when the rapacious ' ' more-pork " owls are about. It is heard more frequently at night than m the day.

The most humorous thing I saw on the island was a young bell-bird learning to sing. It sat absolutely alone on the low bough of a small tree, about six feet from the ground. It always made a good start, but, from 6ome cause that was not apparent, it could never get past the second note. It gave the first one correctly and the second one. Failure certainly was not due to want of trying. I heard it try nearly twelve times, but always with tJtie 6ame result. Only half of the song would come forth. I left it and went on into the bush. On returning, twenty minutes later, I passed the same tree, and the persistent little bird was still sitting on the bough, trying to sing with all its might, ruffling its feathens, arching its back, and straining until I thought its throat would burst.

I did not hear the " Song of Dawn " on the Little Barrier m its perfection. It can be heard at its best only m the spring, and the time of my visit was too late m the season. In the spring months, as soon as the "Lady of the Light" rises from her bed m the ocean, and touches the sanctuary with her rosy fingers, all the birds burst into a joyous chorus. The bell-birds and the tuis lead, and are followed by the robins, the white heads, and others, until an almost incredible volume of sound is created. There is a surprising variety of notes, and as they are all poured forth at the same time they make a perfect din of strange, bewildering music.

The bell-bird has a very bad name ! on the island amongst the members of Mr Shakespear's family. They say that it is one of the most quarrelsome birds m the sanctuary. It quarrels with itself, and it quarrels with all other small birds that come its way. Ite sharp bill is a deadly weapon, which it uses with great effect. It takes quite a delight m attacking the sparrow. That is a matter of no consequence at all, of course, as the sparrow has no friends amongst either birds or 1 men, and nobody takes any notice of anything that is done to him. But wanton attacks on the little white-heads, which have no home now outside of the sanctuary, and on the tom-tite and robins, is another matter, and the bell-bird has earned for itself an unenviable character m this respect. It is both vicious and determined m its attacks. On one occasion it chased a young white-head, and continued its attacks while the whitehead lay on its back on the ground and warded off its aggressor with feet and legs, until someone came to the rescue and frightened the little bully away. The bell-bird is present on the island m countless numbers. It is more numerous than any other species. The whole island is its domain, and the best feature of its presence there is the fact that it is increasing at a fairly rapid rate. Its nest is often found m thick manuka and bush within fifty yards of Mr Shakespear's house. Mr Shakespear told me that last season a pair safely hatched out their brood m a clump of manuka over-shadow-ing the meat safe, ten yards from the back door. This is specially satisfactory, because more than one naturalist has sounded this bird's death-knell. Twenty years ago Sir Walter Buller, m the enlarged edition of his 'Birds of New Zealand,' expressed very pessimistic views m regard to the bird's future. At one time, of course, it was found m all parts of the colony. Sir Walter names district after district m the north from which it had partially or entrely disappeared even then, m the Waikato it was comparatively scarce; on the east coast it was very rare, and from the woods m the north of Auckland it had entajelv disappeared. In the Whangarei district, north of Auckland, and not far from the Little Barrier, a bell-bird is now a novel sight. In 1855 Sir Walter Buller found it very abundant m all parts of the Kaipara Peninsula, on the east coast, north of Auckland ; and on the banks of theWairoa River, thirty miles further north, " the bush fairly swarmed with them." Ten yeaTs later Sir James Hector passed through the same district, and very seldom either saw or heard a bell-bird. The Tapidity with which its destruction was carried on m the NoTth is shown by the Teccrds kept by a resident m the Whangarei district. In 1859, he states, it was very abundant ; m 1860 it showed signs of diminishing; m 1862 it was extremely rare ; m 1866 it was extinct. In 1868 Captain Hutton saw large numbers of bellbirds on the Great Barrier Island, southeast of the Little Barrier; m 1878 Mr Reischek could find none there. It seems to have retreated to many of the small islands near the coast of the North Island. These evidently affoTd it and other native birds natural sanctuaries. YeaTs afteT it had disappeared from the main land it was found on the Rurima Rocks and Whale Island and Motiti Island, m the Bay of Plenty. In late years, also, it has been found on Mokoia, a tiny islarid m Lake Rotorua, and on Motu-taiko, m the centre of Lake Taupo. Dr L. Cockayne and Mr J. Cowan state that they saAv many bell-birds on Kapiti Island, an animal and plant preserve off the west coast of Wellington, Tecently, and their presence m the West Coast Sounds districts has been recorded by Mr G. Fenwick and other observers. Dr Cockayne also saw many on Stewart Island a few weeks ago. Twenty years ago Sir Walter Buller said that " it is only a question of a few years and the sweet notes of this native songster will cease to be heard m the grove, -and naturalists, when compelled to admit the fact, will be left to speculate and argue as to the causes of its extinction." A visit to the Little Banier sanctuary shows that there ara no grounds for adopting such a pessimistic tone. If the bell-biTd was chased entirely off the mainland, which is a remote probability, according to reports received lately, there is every likelihood that it will live on the Little Barrier as long as the forest is preserved and the sacred character of the island is maintained.

The satisfactory position . held by the bell-bird on the island is attributed largely to the absence of the Norway rat and the English bee, and the rarity of cats. The Norway rat has never had a footing on the island, and birds that live m. the trees aTe able to breed their young m safety. A theory has been put forth that the English honey-bee takes possession of the forests and drives tlie honeyeating birds like the bell-bird and the tui away from the flowers and starves them out. Bees will take their share of the honey from the forest flowers, but it is not likely that they will do so to such an extent as to affect the numbers of the birds. As far as any evidence brought forward goes, the bees should be acquitted and all the blame for the bird's banishment from large tracts of country should be placed upon the cats and the rats and oil the advance of civilisation generally. The bell-bird has a. fairly long list of MaOTi names. The Rev. H.~W. Williams, of Gisborne, has recently^ recorded twentysix. The common Maori names are korimako m the North and makomako m the South.